


The Don't Fall in Love Job

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, Belle is also Lacey, Break Up, Complicated Relationships, Con Artists, Discussion of Abortion, Established Relationship, F/M, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Lacey is Belle, Oral Sex, Pregnancy, Smut, Swearing, Unplanned Pregnancy, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, it's complicated - Freeform, pawn shop sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-07-05 12:53:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15864015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: Con artist Lacey never planned on staying in Storybrooke, just long enough to let the heat cool off in Boston from her last job. She also never planned on falling in love with the town's eccentric pawn broker, Mr. Gold, but here she is living a life built on nothing but lies. Well, almost nothing... This is what happens after it all falls apart.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From a prompt @galactic-pirates gave me through a writing meme, "Have you ever written the trope where they meet when one of them is lying, but then oops they fell in love, and now they don't know how to tell them the truth because they aren't who they think but they never lied about the love." Well I hadn't. But now I have. :) This is turning into a thing and prompts are very welcome. I have only the barest idea of a plan.

“Was any of it - _real?_ ”

The catch in Gold’s voice made Lacey stop, her fingers wrapped around the handle of the door to the pawn shop. She looked down and closed her eyes as she swallowed hard against the lump in her throat.

That was the question, wasn’t it? Was it real when she ran away from Boston to hide out in a small town in Maine until a very angry Irishman wasn’t looking for her anymore. Was it real when she was mistaken for the new librarian, simply because of a fake last name and her brunette hair? Was it real when she assumed a life that wasn’t meant to be hers and in the process unexpectedly fell into bed with the pawn shop owner who also happened to be her not-quite-pretend landlord? 

When he whispered that he loved her into the crook of her neck while his cock was still hard inside her? When she said it back?

One little, convenient lie was never supposed to go this far, but then that was the way of being a con artist wasn’t it. Telling lies until the truth was so buried you didn’t know what it even was anymore. Becoming the lie, the story, the game.

“Lacey…”

Her name, her real name, sounded so strange coming from him after months of being called ‘Belle.’ If only she really was Belle French. She could stay, she could have this, this life in a little town with friends and a job that didn’t involve cheating or stealing. She could be a good person, if she tried. Maybe she could be loved too.

She licked her lips and looked back over her shoulder. Gold was standing just in front of the counter with his cane in front of him and his hands folded over it. He was portraying a calmness she knew he didn’t feel, not anymore than she did, but here they were. 

Lacey shrugged and gave him a small smile as she pushed open the door. “No.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold goes after Lacey, and things get a bit heated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1, 2, 3, 4 I declare an angst war! This is entirely @emospritelet, @thatravenclawbitch, and @rufeepeach’s fault. Once again, prompts welcome. This chapter is unbeta’d so it’s probably riddled with typos. Feel free to shoot me a message so I can fix them. Cheers!

The door closed behind Lacey as she walked out into the cool November evening. It had started raining lightly, and it reminded her too much of the day in mid March when she’d arrived in Storybrooke. She sucked in a deep breathe through her nose and closed her eyes, trying to put the image of Gold’s face out of her mind. She started down the sidewalk and brushed a drop of water from her cheek, telling herself it was just the rain. Just as she came to the corner of the building, someone grabbed her arm and spun her around.

Gold stared down at her for a long moment and then pulled her into the small alley between the pawn shop and the hardware store.

“Hey!” Lacey protested. 

The hand on her arm tugged her to him and his mouth crashed against hers, pushing her back against the hard, blue siding and pinning her with his body. She let out a soft grunt and brought her hands up to push at his chest even as her lips parted under his. When his tongue stroked over hers, she gave up trying to shove him away and instead wrapped her hands around the lapels of his suit jacket to keep him close. He broke the kiss abruptly, and she gasped, reaching up to pull him back to her, but he shrugged her off.

He smirked slightly as he looked down at her. “Liar.”

She glared and her eyes flashed with lust and anger. That combination was dangerous where they were concerned, and was half the reason she’d made the mistake of starting a relationship in the first place. 

Her hand gripped the hair at the back of his head, hard, and pulled him down. He let out a growl as their mouths clashed again. His hands found her slim waist and pulled her against him, her heels making her the perfect height to fit their bodies together as he pressed her back against the building once more. Her tongue met his insistently and her hands slid through his hair, tugging until he groaned. The sensation was quickly overwhelming her, as it always did when they were together, and soon they were pushing and pulling each other the rest of the way down the alley to the back door of the pawn shop.

They stumbled into the back workroom Gold used for repairing bits and pieces of his collection or restoring discarded antiques, bumping against a shelf and rattling its contents. Lacey sucked in a breathe through her nose as she fought to keep her lips fused to his, filling her lungs with the familiar, comforting scent of wood and old paper. It was so much like the library she’d been working at, in her assumed life, that it made her chest ache.

Maneuvering through the small, cluttered space, they made their way to the cot in the corner. It wasn’t the first time they had done this on the old, rickety thing, but it would probably be the last. She pushed the thought away as his tongue danced with hers, mimicking what was to come as it plundered her mouth.  
Gold sat down on the cot, hard, brining her with him. They broke apart to shift slightly, so he could stretch his legs out and lean his back against the paneled wall. She went up on her knees and straddled his lap, bumping his hard cock against the inside of her thigh and drawing a sharp gasp from her. He nipped at her bottom lip and drew up the hem of her dress before he pulled her against him. She pressed her lips together as her hips helplessly jerked against his, desperate for friction and relief from the tight, hot ache between her legs. 

Lacey mewled in need, and he grinned up at her. “Still feel nothing?”

“Shut up,” she muttered before kissing him hard.

Her hands fluttered over him, up and down his chest, around his neck, and twinning in his hair. Then they came back down and found his buttons. He sat forward and worked off his suit jacket as she busied herself with opening his dark blue shirt, her favorite. Her frustration and need built until she ripped the last few buttons open, sending them flying to either side and skittering over the wood floor. He growled into her mouth and she immediately attached her lips to the side of his neck, her hands traveling downwards to grip his belt. 

His hands went to the back of her dress, drawing the zipper down as she freed his cock. He groaned when she took him in hand, stroking softly, and let his head fall back against the wall. “Lace, _please_."

She smirked and let go of him, tugging down the front of her dress to reveal a sheer black bra. Then she reached behind her and unhooked it, dropping it to the side as she pushed her chest forward, offering him her breasts. 

If they hadn't been in such a hurry he could have spent hours worshipping them, he could have taken her to his bed again and driven her mad until she begged him for release. Bending his head, he caught one of her rosy nipples in his mouth, sucking gently. Her breath hitched and she clawed at his shoulders, her head falling back on a long, low moan. His hands skimmed down her waist and between her legs, pushing her dress up around her waist until he encountered the matching panties. 

He let go of her nipple with a wet pop, and met Lacey's eyes, wide with arousal and expectation. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and she held his gaze as he slid his fingers under the elastic waistband. She was slick, hot, and swollen, more than ready for him, but he still took his time, pressing one finger inside her. He wanted to make this last as long as possible, show her that it had all meant something, prove she was lying about not feeling anything for him. 

She keened and closed her eyes, letting her forehead rest against his as he worked her up slowly, adding a second finger and then a third. Her body stretched deliciously and she clenched around him, wanting harder, faster, more. The elastic made it hard for him to as deep as they both wanted, and finally she lifted her head and met his eyes. 

"Rip them,” she gasped.

She could see the moment his control snapped, and with a sharp tug the flimsy fabric gave. He left them torn and caught around her waist, and captured her lips again. Their teeth clicked together briefly, but they didn’t care. All either of them could think about was being joined with other again, filling, taking, and fucking. She pressed his cock to her, rubbing up and down his thick length, slicking him up before she took him in hand again. 

Lacey moaned and rose up on her knees, pausing to catch his gaze. She stroked him hard and slow. She applied just the right amount of pressure, knowing she could make him come undone easily if she wanted to, and licked her lips at the thought. 

“Fuck," Gold breathed, scrambling to pull her onto him, needing to be inside her immediately.

She sank down fast, slamming her thighs against his and he cried out shamelessly. She threw her head back in a silent scream, riding his cock in hard thrusts. He winced at the pain in his leg, jarred with every movement of her hips. His mouth found its way back to her nipple and he worried it between his teeth, hearing how her breathing grew sharper and shallower. Small noises left her lips every time he bottomed out inside her, and he set his hands on her waist, pulling her down as he pitched his hips up. 

He felt her leg muscles tremble, but she seemed intent on keeping the harsh rhythm. Her eyes were closed and her mouth formed a small "O" as she fucked him, her pussy holding him tight, the friction slick and almost painful at the same time. He wouldn't last long like this, but she started to flutter around him and he didn't think she would either.

Lacey started to shake, both from her building climax and the strain of keeping up the bruising pace she had set. A cry was ripped from her throat as his thumb found her clit, rubbing clumsy circles over the sensitive bud. 

"Fuck!” she whined. “Yeah - don't - don’t stop - oh…” 

She ground out the words as she rode him, but he wasn't planning on stopping anything. He was certain he could probably keep doing this until the day he died, if she’d let him. Her body pitched forward, clinging to him as her body began to tense all at once. He felt his climax near, the telltale tingling in his abdomen increasing as his balls drew up tight. There was a brief thought that this was the first time he didn’t have a condom on when they did this, but it was too late to stop now.

Her cunt spasmed around his cock, and he pinched her clit between his fingers, making her howl and buck violently as she came. He felt her body draw him deeper, clamping down on him like a vice and pull him over the edge with her.

They panted hard in the shallow space between them, their breaths hot and wet.

"Shit," she muttered.

"Hmm," he managed in turn and tilted his head up to kiss her.

After a series of short, soft pecks, Lacey pulled away. His eyes blinked open as he slid out o her, and she looked away. “I have to go.”

She swore again, and stumbled as she moved to stand. Her hands hastily righted her clothes as his seed started to run down the inside of her thigh. Ignoring the sticky, tickling sensation, she pulled down the hem of her dress and wiggled her left foot back into her shoe. 

Behind her, Gold struggled to his feet, his shirt hanging open from loss of buttons and his trousers a wrinkled mess. “Lacey,” he said quietly. “Please don’t -”

“ _Don’t,_ ” she interrupted, spinning around and holding up a hand. “This should _not_ have happened.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Well, it definitely did.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away and headed back through the curtain into the front of the pawn shop. The door was unlocked and the was still flipped to open. Just like their first time, anyone could have walked in and caught them.

She heard him call out her name as she hurried to the door and out into the evening rain. Gold followed after her, catching her before she could get away, as he had just a little while ago.

“ _Fuck you,_ ” she spat, yanking her arm out of his grip.

His head tilted, and the raindrops that had fallen in his hair sparkled in the light from the streetlamp. 

“ _Again?” he asked sharply, fueled by anger that she would fuck him and leave yet again, that she kept running when he was trying so hard._

__

__

“Oh.” He smirked. “I would, but you’re going to have to clarify for me which name I should call out while I do it. Belle? Lacey? Or Isabelle?”

Lacey gaped at him. “What?”

He shook his head. “Isabelle Lacey Marceau, also known as Lacey March, Lacey French, Belle French, and at least seven other names that I know of.”

She ran a hand through her messy hair, pushing back the damp strands. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she met his eyes again. “You _knew?_ ”

He shrugged. “I have for several weeks. Since the Miner’s Day festival.”

Blinking, she turned away and wrapped her arms around herself as her head spun with the revelation that her lies had been uncovered long before everything had actually unraveled around her. Before they found the real Belle French, and before she’d been arrested for the woman’s murder. Before he’d said he loved her and reality had come crashing down around them.

“So…” She stopped and shook her head. “This whole time you - when you said -? You _knew_ it was all a lie?”

Gold sighed and closed the distance between them. “Yes, but it - it didn’t matter.”

Lacey put her hands up as if to push him away. “ _Didn’t matter?_ ” She blew out a breath and looked up at the sky, wishing the dark, swirling clouds would just come down and pick her up, take her away from the mess she’d created. “I was a _lie_. My whole _life_ was a lie! _We_ were a lie!”

“ _No_ ,” he insisted, reaching for her. “I _loved_ you. I _do_ love you.”

“You don’t even _know_ me,” she countered, taking another step back. “You can’t - you don’t know who I really am!”

“It doesn’t matter who you really are!” 

His voice roared in her ears, his words cutting deep even though it wasn’t his intent.

“And that’s the problem,” she said softly, blinking at the rain that dribbled down over her forehead and into her eyes. “Because _I_ don’t even know who I really am. Not anymore. And you can’t love someone who doesn’t exist.”

“Lacey, please -” He reached for her again, brushing her arm just before she moved out of reach. He stepped forward and winced, the ache in his leg keeping him from being able to follow her as she continued to back away from him. “ _Lacey -!_ ”

Lacey shook her head, her lips pressed together and trapped between her teeth as she tried to hold back her tears. “Goodbye, Alex.”

With that, she turned and started walking away. Gold’s voice called out for her one last time as she rounded the corner, drowned out by the rumbling thunder and the sharp click of her heels on the pavement. The bus was still loading everyone’s luggage, and she exhaled a sigh of relief as she climbed on board and made her way to the back to slip into the little bathroom where she cleaned herself as best she could.

A few minutes later, the bus rumbled to life and lurched forward. A puff of exhaust and the rhythm of the pounding rain carried Isabelle Lacey Marceau away from Storybrooke, away from a name she hadn’t let herself think in years, away from the shadow of all her lies and the soft brown eyes that she knew would haunt her dreams. She sagged in her seat and leaned her head against the cool glass as the tears finally fell.

She hoped he moved on, hoped he forgot her. Forgetting would be better than hating.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving Storybrooke, Lacey gets some unexpected, life changing news, and remembers the first time she met Mr. Gold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all knew this was coming. Please bear with me, I promise not all is what it seems. :) I may have to put together some timeline notes at some point, but I don't plan on making a habit of flashbacks in this story as it's primarily about where the characters are now, not where they have been. Unbeta’d and probably a mess.

The bathroom was dim and dingy and smelled of bleach.

Lacey stretched her arm up and leaned against the wide mirror, her forehead resting at her elbow. The glass felt wonderfully cool and she sighed as above her head one of the light bulbs flickered and went out. Her other arm hung limp at her side, her fingertips barely holding the slim plastic handle as it dangled. She sniffled sharply and then sucked in a breath through her nose, her eyes watering as the acrid scent stung her sinuses. 

After a long moment, she straightened and stared down at the double lines, taunting her with their happy pink color. It was such a simple thing. Two easy steps: pee on a stick, ruin your life! She dropped the test in the little trash bin, wincing as it clanged and landed on top of the other tests she’d taken over the last three days. They all had the same answer, no matter how much she wished otherwise.

_Pregnant._

With another sigh, she shuffled out of the bathroom and collapsed on the narrow bed, the metal springs squeaking in protest as she shifted and rolled onto her back. If she had been strong enough to keep walking, none of this would be happening. She should have never left Boston. She should have never stopped in Storybrooke.

She should have never fallen in love.

 

 

* * *

 

_8 months ago..._

Lacey shivered as she stepped off the bus.

The light of a red neon sign cut through the hazy gray afternoon, and she headed towards it. An early March drizzle matted her hair as she walked down the street. The steady rain was slowly melting the dirty, gray piles of snow, leaving behind a layer of grit that washed into the streets. The remains of winter always seemed so morose and dreary, despite the increasing hours of daylight.

She stopped and looked up at the sign, Granny's Diner. It had the kind of ring to it that made you think of black coffee and cherry pie, and she started to smile. On the surface, Storybrooke seemed like a decent enough place to stop for now, at least until she figured out where to go next. It was small, and the nearest big box store or Walmart was an hour's drive away, but it was also the last stop the bus made before it crossed the border into Canada. She couldn't risk her fake passport failing a customs inspection.

A quick search on her phone told her Granny also ran a small inn, with free breakfast and basic cable. She could tell from the outside of the building that it had that odd, only in New England charm, the kind that somehow made the combination of gingham curtains and kitschy sailboats in bottles work.

Granny herself was exactly as expected, an older woman with curly gray hair and a pair of wireframe spectacles perched on the end of her nose. She gave Lacey a flat, unconcerned look over the rims of her glasses as the door shut, cutting off the chill from outside.

“Can I help you?”

Lacey put on her sweetest smile and walked up to the counter. “Hi, I'd like a room, please?”

Granny frowned and slipped her glasses off, letting them dangle from a beaded lanyard around her neck. “You're definitely not from around here.”

She smiled wider and shook her head. “What gave it away?”

Her accent was fairly unmistakable, of course, but she didn’t see the point in hiding it from anyone here. She’d done that for years in Boston, along with the occasional wig or colored contacts. No one would be looking for a Australian, much less in the middle of nowhere Maine.

Granny started to grin, and flipped open a wide ledger. “How long will you be staying, Miss...?”

“French,” Lacey said automatically, inwardly cringing at how easily she’d used the familiar alias. 

Granny's eyebrows lifted.

“Belle,” she added quickly. “Belle French.”

_Rule number one: keep the lie simple. The more complex the lies get, the harder it is to keep them straight in your head._

The old woman seemed to be deep in thought for a long moment, then she clapped her hands together and grinned. “Oh! You're the new librarian!”

_Rule number two: if the mark suggests or assumes something about you, go with it. People are less likely to question something they came up with._

“Yep!” Lacey answered brightly. “Yeah, that’s - that’s me!”

She’d probably spent a total of five hours in an actual library in her life, but what the hell. She pretended to be a ballerina once, and almost ended up the understudy to a Russian prima ballerina. Besides, she didn’t plan on staying long, so if she made a few bucks shelving some books, it certainly wouldn’t hurt her situation. 

Granny nodded and made a note in her ledger, then turned to take a key off the rack on the wall behind her. “Well, then we’re very happy to have you stay with us. How many nights will you be staying?” 

“Thank you. Um, just a week for now,” Lacey said absently as she scanned the short list of names in the ledger. “I’ll, uh, look for a permanent place once I get settled in my new job.”

The last entry in the book was five days old, and before that the most recent guests were from almost three months ago. They were probably staying in town for the holidays, or waiting out a snowstorm on there way to somewhere else. She wondered just how sleepy this little New England town was that a cozy inn like Granny’s, in a town along the coast, was used so infrequently.

She pulled out a credit card she was pretty sure still worked, just as the other woman turned and set the key on the counter.

“Just sign in here,” Granny instructed.

Then she picked up the credit card and swiped it as Lacey held her breath. The name on it was wrong. If Granny noticed she’d have to come up with some excuse, but within seconds the card was back in her hand and she was tucking it away in her purse.

Lacey looked up from signing her new alias. “Thank you, Ms...?”

“Lucas,” Granny replied, eyeing the signature before giving Lacey an appraising smile. “Martha Lucas, but everyone just calls me Granny. I put you in room number four. It has a nice view of the town square. Normally, there's an upgrade fee for the square, but since you’re the reason the library is reopening, I'll waive it.”

“Thank you, Granny, I -”

“Well,” came a smooth, accented voice from behind her. “Who might this be?”

Lacey turned to find a man in a well-tailored, dark suit. He had brown hair to his shoulders, streaked with gray at his temples, and stood with his hands casually folded over a gold handled cane. There was something imposing about him despite his slim build, and a look in his eye that was a strange mix of cool indifference and curiosity.

“She’s the new librarian,” Granny said, gesturing towards her.

He started towards Lacey, the movements graceful even with his slight limp, and then stopped next to her. She glanced at Granny, and saw the woman’s entire demeanor, which had been pleasant thus far, shift to being very standoffish. She glared as she reached down under the counter, pulled up a metal lockbox, and took out a sizable roll of money, tied with a rubber band.

Lacey’s eyes went wide as she watched Granny feather the ends of the bills with her thumb before holding them out to the man.

“It’s all here,” she snapped as he reached out and took the money, plucking it from her grasp with two long fingers.

“Yes, of course it is, dearie, thank you.” He turned to Lacey, and gave her a slow smile. “So, new librarian?”

Lacey nodded. “Yes, I’m -”

“Miss...Frank, if I remember?” he interrupted, touching a finger to his bottom lip. “From...Hartford?”

Her eyes were drawn to the digit as it rubbed back and forth, and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand. It was an old trick to help keep her focused when she was unsure about the next lie that came out of her mouth, the story she was about to build out of it. He seemed to be the type of person who knew things, who had a hand in everything, and wielded a quiet sort of power. The way he was looking at her was unnerving.

“ _French_ ,” she corrected. “And I just got in from Boston.”

_Rule number three: always make your story close enough to the truth that your reactions and memories are natural._

“Ah, yes.” He inclined his head slightly and held out his hand. “I’m Mr. Gold.”

Lacey held his gaze for a long moment, and then let it flick down to his hand before she took it in hers and gave it a firm shake. His fingers were warm and soft, except for a light callous on the pad of his thumb. It brushed her skin for a second, and she swallowed.

“I’m Belle,” she said, meeting his calculated smile with one of her own. “Belle French.”

He flashed his teeth and she caught the glint of gold, her eyes widening as she pulled her hand away.

“Belle,” he echoed softly. “What a lovely name.”

She watched as he moved to the door and opened it, letting a sharp sliver of sunlight in that made his eyes look deep and warm. The thumb of her right had moved absently over her fingers and palm. She could still feel the gentle grip of his hand on hers.

Gold met her eyes and gave her a small nod. “Enjoy your stay...Belle.”

 

 

* * *

 

Outside it started raining, the wind slapping water against the window in a steady, soothing rhythm.

Lacey’s hand had drifted down to her belly as she thought about those first minutes in Storybrooke. It came to rest over the waistband of her jeans for a moment, before she pulled it away. Whatever was happening was right there, right under the dark denim fabric and layers of skin and muscle. Something was taking root inside her without her permission.

The thought made her feel sick, and she rolled onto her side and pulled her legs up. Her eyes squeezed tight as she breathed in and out slowly, listening to the patter of the rain until it passed. She supposed there would be more of that in the next few weeks, along with a whole lot of other changes. There would be months of it in fact.

She shifted onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, her eyes tracing the cracks that spread out from the old plaster medallion in the center. It was sort of like her life now, all the cracks she’d created with her lies and schemes, all the people she’d pushed away. She couldn’t have a baby or be a mother. This was no kind of life for a child, or for her anymore, but it was the only thing she’d ever been good at.

Well, almost.

For a while she’d been pretty decent at running a library, but that wasn’t an option anymore. She couldn’t really put a job that should have never been hers, that she’d held under an assumed name, on a resume. She also couldn’t put model, pool shark, lawyer, county zoning clerk, or flautist on there either, no matter how well she’d pulled them off at the time.

Thunder rumbled and she shivered. It would have been easy to let herself remember more than just the first time she met Alexander Gold. Like the time she’d ducked into his shop to get out of the rain, the day the power went out on them in the library, or the weekend they’d spent in his cabin by the lake.

That weekend had been magical. It had also been the one and only time Gold said he loved her, before their last moments together in Storybrooke. She could still hear his voice gasping her name - _Belle, Belle, Belle_ \- over and over until they were both spent. And then the softest whisper, so faint that it could have happened a dream. _I love you._ The look in his eyes afterwards was undeniable, and her heart shattered into a thousand pieces even as she pulled him to her and kissed him.

If only it had been real. But Belle wasn’t real, she was just another lie, another mask worn on the outside for a while. It didn’t matter that it had been the hardest to remove, the hardest to walk away from, it wasn’t her. Gold’s love wasn’t real, couldn’t be real. It wasn’t for _her._

 _Belle would have said it back_ , she thought. If she’d really been Belle, deep down, she would have said it back and that would have been it. The beginning of everything instead of the beginning of the end.

_Belle would have stayed._

_Belle would have wanted a baby._

_Belle would have been brave._

Lacey sucked in a breath and sat up, running her hands through her hair roughly as she brushed it back from her face. She twisted it up and snatched a hair tie from her nightstand to wrap around it. Then she stood and grabbed her jacket, shrugging it on as she headed out of her bedroom.

_Rule number four: plans change, always have a backup._

There was a few hundred dollars in the bottom of a ceramic cookie jar on her kitchen counter, which she pulled out and rolled up in her hand. It was her emergency stash, leftover from the last paycheck the Storybrooke Public Library had paid her. Well, that it had paid to Belle French, who had immediately cashed it and stashed it.

She squeezed the money in her fist and shoved it in her pocket as she stepped out of the apartment building and into the rain. It felt everyone she passed was judging her, like they knew where she was going and what she was going to do.

The storefront the clinic was in used to be a salon. Some of the exam rooms still had the hair washing sinks in them, with the flexible hoses and the cutouts where you would lay your neck. Once upon a time, Lacey had wanted to be a hairstylist. And a makeup artist. And an actress. And a zookeeper.

None of that happened.

Her leg kept bouncing nervously as she sat on the hard plastic chair. It made the paper form flap against the clipboard. When she got to the line that said patient name, she paused and blinked. For a moment she wasn’t sure what to write and the ink from the pen bled into the page as she watched. 

_Who the fuck was she anymore?_

She took a slow, deep breath and scribbled the only name her fingers could manage to write - _Belle French_ \- hoping that by doing so, she could borrow just a little of her alter ego’s courage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a cold, stormy night, Gold reminisces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Angst War is back, friends! This time with a big ol' update because I didn't want to split the chapter. Here we see Gold and Lacey (Belle's) first time.

The old windows of the pawn shop rattled in their panes as another gust of wind slapped rain against the glass.

Gold’s jaw clenched as he swallowed and set his drink down on the table. There was a sharp chill in the air and all day the weather had been gray and dreary. It matched his mood perfectly.

Lifting the low ball glass, he leaned back in the chair and it creaked under his weight, a long groaning sound of wood and metal. The alcohol burned the back of his throat, and he licked his lips, eyeing the bottle on the corner of the work bench, trying to decide if he should pour another or give up and head home. The old, pink Victorian hadn’t felt much like a home since Belle - _Lacey_ \- left, and he had avoided being there as much as possible in the last few weeks, even to the point of bringing a change of clothes into work and sleeping on the rickety cot in the back room of his shop. He glanced at said cot and then shifted in his seat, frowning at the stiffness in his lower back. Another night on the thin, lumpy mattress would do him no favors.

The wind shifted, throwing splatters of rain in a swirl of directions. A jagged crack of lightning flashed, followed by another lingering rumble of thunder, growing in volume until the back door of the shop shook in its frame. Behind him, a set of screws rolled along the edge of the table and dropped to the floor. Turning in his chair to pick them up, he recalled another such stormy evening a few months ago.

* * *

* * *

_7 months ago..._

The bell over the door rang out, and Gold looked up from his ledger.

Belle French, the new librarian, smiled at him and shook out her hair. Shiny droplets flew from the dark strands in all directions and he frowned. At some point in the last hour, while he’d been going through the rent collections that were due tomorrow, a light rain had started.

“Miss French,” he said, closing the ledger book and stepping around the counter. “What can I do for you?”

She shrugged, still smiling, and pulling down the slide on her pink umbrella. “Just...needed to duck out of the rain for a minute.”

His eyes narrowed, but he let the flimsy excuse pass. “Here to gaze longingly at your tea set again?”

Lacey’s lips twitched as she leaned the umbrella against the wall next to the door and looped her purse strap over her left arm. She stepped further into the shop, her eyes flitting around the room as they always did, and then turned to examine a glass case filled with fine china and figurines. There was a tea set on the top shelf, a creamy white with a blue, abstract style flowering branch on each piece and gilded rims. The simplicity of it pleased her the first moment she saw it and now every time she came into Gold’s show she stopped to look at it. Smiling softly, she reached towards it, her fingers touching the glass door of the case.

“Do you want to make a deal?”

She startled at the sound of Gold’s voice. His low brogue was close behind her, close enough for his warm breath to sweep over the shell of her ear and send a shiver through her. The way he asked such a simple question made her feel as though she’d be signing her soul away to the Devil if she said yes. 

She lowered her hand, trying to control her breath. “No thank you. It’s beautiful, but -”

“If you like it enough to check on it every time you come in here, you like it enough to at least consider making an offer.” His lips curved crookedly and he reached around her for the door of the case. 

The inside of his wrist brushed her forearm, and his chest was nearly pressed to her back. Lacey shivered.

“One of the cups is chipped,” he continued, opening the door and causing the glass pane to shake as the latch gave way. “I could give you a discount.”

Sighing, she slipped away from him when he lowered his arm, and shook her head. “I really couldn’t. I’ve barely moved into my apartment as it is, and there are so many expenses to setting up a new home. I’m sure someone else will take it off your hands.”

Gold closed the door again and nodded. “I don’t think you have to worry too much about that. It’s been here for years and no one has ever spared it more than a passing glance.”

“Oh?” Her eyes drifted back to the set, feeling a strange pang in her chest. The design was close to one that her mother used to own, save for the rounded pleats on the sides of the cups and the edges of the saucers. Her mother’s had been the same creamy white and gold trim, but with a blue rose.

“You’re the only one who’s ever looked at it that way.”

His voice was oddly soft, and she looked at him, wondering at how his face had relaxed. He seemed to be gazing at her, and unlike his usual hard, scrutinizing stare, she didn’t feel uncomfortable or examined. She felt...seen.

The first time she’d come into Gold’s shop she was overwhelmed by its contents. It was full from top to bottom, front to back. The glass cases on the sides held the usual baubles, watches, and rings, nothing extraordinary or noteworthy. Still, her mind had rapidly appraised each velvet tray for what she could probably get from her usual contacts. She hated that her first thought was always how to make a quick buck, how to play a potential mark, but she’d spent too many years of looking at the world that way. 

Every situation was about survival.

Gold’s mouth curved slightly as he continued to look at her, but it wasn’t the sneering smirk she’d seen so often. This was a true smile, one of amusement or happiness, of familiarity. She looked away hastily, turning to trail her fingertips along the spines of some books as she rounded the row of tall cabinets. Her hand stopped on a travel book, for a long moment, before sliding to the next. Seeing the world was something she'd want to do since she was a little girl, and she supposed LA to New York to Boston to Storybrooke counted in some capacity. It was weird to consider, but where she was now felt safe, secluded from everything and everywhere else she'd known. The tiny Maine town and its quirky people were growing on her. Her dream had always been to make the big score and get out, go to Europe or the Caribbean, somewhere old habits wouldn't think to look for her and she could start over. Maybe that could be here, maybe this life was what she needed a for a while, a chance to stop surviving and start living.

Gold shook himself and returned to the counter where his ledger was sitting. Belle was still something of an enigma to him, a newcomer that he hadn’t been able to sort so easily as the others. Dr. Whale was a womanizer from minute one, just by the way he looked Ruby Lucas up and down. Sister Astrid was sweet, but also a pushover who would believe anything said with the barest hint of sincerity. Belle French, however, refused to be put in any sort of box. 

Every time he tried to peel back a layer, she defied his assumptions. His few interactions with her had been quite pleasant and even amusing. She appeared as kind as Sister Astrid, but there was a sharpness to her wit that warned him not to underestimate her. The only thing he could say with certainty was that she seemed lost, like she hadn’t found the place in the world where she was meant to be, a piece without a puzzle.

He was intrigued and curious, and in Storybrooke, that in itself was a miracle.

“You know,” she said, eyeing him sideways. “You could just take a picture.”

He stopped and blinked. “What?”

“You were staring, Mr. Gold.” Her eyebrows lifted. “Again.”

He frowned and then shook his head. “My apologies, Miss French. I didn’t intend to stare, I was just...thinking.”

“It’s alright,” she replied, coming to stand on the opposite side of the counter. Her palms rested on the polished edge as she leaned towards him. “I don’t mind.”

Before he could think up a response, a peal of thunder rumbled and rolled outside, heralding the onset of the heavy rain the weather forecast had promised. Belle shivered, and he licked at his bottom lip.

“Chilly?”

She shrugged and stepped back. “No, I just - I should probably go.”

As she turned, fat drops started to fall in earnest, and she rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, wishing she had brought a sweater.

“I have something that might warm you up.”

Once again he was standing right behind her, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his body and feel the air from his mouth flutter her hair. She pressed her lips together and she turned slowly, letting her arm graze the button on his suit jacket. Maybe this was one way to start living.

She tipped her head up and met his eyes. “What did you have in mind?”

Gold moved into the back room of the shop, and Belle followed, her purse swinging at her side. He crossed to his work table and bent to open a cabinet behind it, pulling out a glass and a bottle of whiskey. He set the glass down and held up the bottle in question, taking her brief nod and rising smile as an affirmative.

He poured two fingers into the glass and held it out for her, barely suppressing the shudder of pleasure that went through him at the very intentional touch of her fingers against his. She hesitated for a long moment, with her hand almost wrapped around his before she took the glass. Bringing it to her lips, she breathed in the scent and then took a tentative sip.

“S’good,” she said, passing the glass back to him. “And I’m not usually a whiskey girl.”

He took a mouthful, swallowing slowly, and let out a low hum. “Then what kind of girl are you?”

Lacey grinned and set her purse on the table before taking the drink from him again, trying not to think about what sharing the same glass meant. They were passing back and forth the taste and touch of their mouths, and she found herself wishing it was less impersonal. He had the kind of lips that looked soft and kissable. It wasn't the first time she'd noticed them, or how nicely his suits fit.

He came around the work table as she pivoted on her heel, coming to stand directly in front of her. The edge of the table pressed into her backside as she tipped her head up. She set the glass aside and looked at him through her lashes, licking her lips to catch a stray drop of whiskey. 

Gold stepped closer, his dark eyes wide and shining as he followed the motion of her mouth. “Why are you here, Miss French?”

His voice was low and even, his accent heavier. She shrugged one shoulder and leaned back a little, the position causing her spine to arch enough press her breasts forward. “It was raining,” she replied simply. 

Her eyes flicked up and down his body, telegraphing her intentions. The corner of his mouth twitched and curved slightly, but he otherwise kept his expression neutral. 

“Not that hard,” he countered, as another burst of thunder rattled the old windows of the shop. It had been a light, but steady drip when she arrived, hardly worth opening her bright pink umbrella. Now it was nearly torrential, whipped about by the wind as lightning cracked across the clouds. “You could have gone anywhere. Granny’s, Marco’s, _home_. Why my shop?”

Lacey’s breathing increased as the soft thump of his cane reached her ears. He planted it firmly against the wood floor, next to her shoe. His hand and the handle brushed her hip, and her legs pressed together beneath her skirt. She gave her head a quick shake, tossing her hair back from her face as she met his gaze. He looked like a bow pull taut, or a cobra ready to strike. He wanted her, and she shivered in spite of her confidence. 

“I should think that was obvious, Mr. Gold.”

In truth, it wasn't. She didn't really have a plan when she came here beyond a little banter with Gold before she picked up carryout from Granny's and went back to the tiny apartment over the library. But the evening was taking a turn for the interesting, and she'd always been good at rolling with the story as it ebbed and flowed.

What was obvious to Gold, was that she had seduction on her mind, though he couldn’t imagine why. He was hardly Storybrooke’s most eligible bachelor, that distinction went to Sheriff Graham, whose rugged good looks turned the head of nearly every woman in town, single or not. Perhaps she wanted to align herself with someone she saw as powerful in the community, someone who had influence with the mayor to further her position or increase the funding for the library. Or maybe she was looking for an _arrangement_ of a different type. A librarian’s salary didn’t go very far, even in a small town, and he was not immune to her charms.

Whatever her reasons, her presence in his shop and this town interested him, and there were very few things that he found interesting.

His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he raised his free hand. Her muscles jumped beneath his fingertips as he trailed them down her cheek and along her jaw. Then he drew them down the side of her neck, until his palm was resting over her throat. His thumb settled in the slim gap between muscles, where vital blood vessels resided, but he didn’t press. She swallowed, and he let her feel the tension in his hand, the ease with which he could end her. Her pulse thrummed with life, and it brought to mind all the dark desires he kept hidden.

She was always unsettling him, with her heated gaze and gentle brushes. Now it was her turn to be uncomfortable. “What game are you playing?”

Lacey reached out to run her fingers along his tie, tracing the swirling paisley pattern down the length of the purple silk. His hand fell away from her throat, and she started to smile. He wasn't going to hurt her, at least not unless she wanted him to, but the sensation, the thought, made her head spin. “No games,” came her soft reply.

Her finger tapped the shiny buckle at his waist and she felt him move forward, a slight shudder of his hips that signaled his desire.

This was dangerous.

Gold’s eyes searched hers and she gave a sharp nod. He dipped his head and brushed his nose against hers as his right hand twisted over the handle of his cane and his left braced next to her on the work table. She tipped her face up, grazing his lips with hers. For a long moment, their breaths mingled in the narrow gap between their mouths, until she grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into a fierce and passionate kiss. He kissed her back, equally fevered, tongue slipping over hers. His hand left the table and moved behind her, sliding down to cup her backside and pull her against him. 

Lacey broke the kiss with a moan, tilting her head to the side as his mouth moved to her neck. Distantly she heard the clanking sound of his cane falling to the old wood floor, before his other hand settled at her waist. She raked her fingers through his shaggy hair, as soft as she’d imagined, and dragged his mouth back to hers.

His mind spun as she kissed him, her lips and tongue tasting of the whiskey they’d shared. He pushed her back against the table, rattling the bins of spare parts and sending some component of the clock he was fixing to the floor. She lifted one leg, and he gripped her hips, helping her up onto the table. Her knees spread, catching on her tight pencil skirt, so he pushed at the hem until there was enough space for him to stand between her legs.

Gold broke the kiss as his hands roamed up her body, and she leaned back, bracing her hands behind her. He popped the next button on her blouse as his thumb rubbed back and forth over her inner thigh. Her skin felt hot and her cheeks were flushed, her lips red and swelled from kissing.

“What do you want?” he asked, his voice low and strained. When she didn’t answer, he opened another button, exposing the front of her bra. “Belle?”

Lacey blinked. The name was still strange to her, still requiring a bit of effort to react to, but she rather liked the way it sounded coming from his husky Scottish brogue. The dark look in his eyes was almost frightening. Despite her instincts, the voice in the back of her mind screaming at her to run and never look back, there was little she could do other than surrender. And though she would never openly admit it, a part of her wanted just that. She wanted to let go and give herself over to pleasure, to forget her cover story and circumstances, however briefly. 

She rocked her hips against his and smiled at the way his palm tensed against her leg. “What do you want to do to me, Mr. Gold?” 

She sat up and reached for his belt, but he shook his head and took hold of her wrists, pulling them away from his trousers. His erection was evident, but it wasn’t time for that yet. She fought him for a moment, pushing back before giving in and letting him pull her hands behind her back. She crossed them willinging, allowing him to shift his grip and hold them in one hand as he leaned in to bite at her neck. She felt a shock of adrenaline shoot through her body, heightening her arousal as his hold on her wrists tightened.

“Alexander,” he said simply. If they were going go this far, he wanted her to have his first name.

Lacey licked her lips. “Alexander...”

His mouth traveled up to her ear, and he whispered, “I want to taste you all over. Then I want to watch you come.” A light, desperate noise slipped out of her lips, and he pulled back, flashing his teeth at her as he unbuttoned her blouse the rest of the way. “And if you’re very good and keep your hands here, and keep making those delightful little sounds...I’ll fuck you.”

Her mouth fell open, panting with need as his words wiggled into her brain and sent a rush of pleasure through her. Perhaps she was making a deal with the Devil after all, but the pulsing between her legs and the way her intimate muscles twitched begged her to find out. Her nails dug into her palms as she struggled to keep them in place, and he finally let go. 

Gold’s mouth returned to her neck and he kissed his way down to her chest. Her bra was black and lacy, with a convenient front hook closure. “Well, well,” he said, meeting her eyes as he took the clasp in his fingers and snapped it open.

He parted the lace, baring her breasts. His cock throbbed at the sight of her fair skin, tipped with rosy pink nipples. Her chest rose and fell steadily as he cupped one in each hand, feeling the tender softness before giving them a light squeeze. His thumbs rubbed back and forth, eliciting a small groan as she pressed herself into his touch, her nipples growing harder for him. Then he bent and swirled his tongue over one taut bud, taking it into his mouth and sucking gently, until he pulled a long, drawn out groan from her lips. Her breathing was harsh and heavy, and her arms trembled when he set his teeth to the sensitive peak. He knew her composure was about to break as he moved to the other breast and repeated his sweet torment.

“Alex - ah!” Lacey gasped, giving up holding her hands at the small of her back and finally letting them rest on the work table. Her back arched, offering more of herself to his sinful mouth. He seemed in no rush to move on to anything else, but she knew what would urge him on. “Please!”

There it was. The magic word he’d been waiting to hear. He straightened and smirked down at her. “What was that, Miss French?”

“Please,” she said again, reaching for him.

“Ah-ah.” He caught her hand and gave her a warning look. “Hands behind your back, Belle.”

Lacey pressed her palms to the table behind her, her throat moving as she swallowed. She hated being told what to do, but something about Gold was intoxicating. His words made her brain fuzzy, made her want to obey, and if they hadn’t shared the same glass of whiskey she might have wondered if he’d drugged her. 

She watched him as he pulled down the exposed zipper on the side of her skirt, lifting her legs one at a time, so he could work the light wool fabric out from under her. She shivered as he turned to lay it over a metal stool, the cool air of the back room raising goosebumps on her skin. There was a burning warmth between her thighs and desperately wished he’d just get on with it, but Gold was a man who worked at his own pace. 

He stood between her legs again, pressing them open, his hands dancing over her thighs. His mouth was too far from hers and she tried to lean in to kiss him, but he leaned back, smirking at her frustrated growl. He pulled her to the edge of the table and then knelt down. The muscles of her inner thighs flexed as he held her legs apart. He kissed the inside of her thigh, touched his hot tongue to her skin, and then sucked lightly. Her nails scraped over the tabletop, and she let out a pitiful moan that only spurred him to tease her more, going up one leg from knee to the crease of her hip, and then down the other side, bypassing the place where she wanted him most.

He stopped and glanced up at her. She was biting her lip hard, and her breasts were rising and falling fast. He let his eyes trail down her body to the damp spot on her panties, and inhaled her scent as he leaned in towards her mound. She begged him again and shifted forward. Finally, he brought his mouth to her satin covered sex, and nipped her playfully through her knickers. Her reaction was a sharp cry and a kick of her right leg that sent one of her shoes to the floor.

Gold sat back on his heels, ignoring the protest of his aching knee and ankle. The pain in his bad leg took the edge off his own sexual need, which was about the only benefit it had for the moment. He slipped off her other shoe, and set them both off to the side. She was so aroused she was practically writhing on his table, and he smiled as he kissed her, only just brushing against the waistband of her underwear. 

“Fuck!” She had managed to restrain herself through most of his torture, but the word was dripping with desperation.

He chuckled, self-satisfied, as he slipped the panties down her legs and dropped them to the floor. Her pussy was glistening with arousal, and he paused to slip off his suit jacket, the only concession to undressing he’d made since this started, despite the fact that she was nude from the waist down and nearly so from the waist up. He liked seeing her this way, open and defenseless and ready for him.

Lacey made another little sound, and he met her eyes, holding her gaze as he leaned in and ran his tongue over her. Her palm squeaked against the varnished wood table, pleasure shooting through her from her belly to her toes when he licked at her again. Her head rolled back to look up at the ceiling, eyelids fluttering as she panted heavily. The motions of his mouth were soft and light, the same teasing pace he’d use on her breasts and thighs, and then he stopped. 

Her head snapped down, her glazed eyes opening to meet his as he rose unsteadily to full height. He had to brace on the edge of the table since his cane had fallen to the floor, but there was still the same graceful elegance to his movement, the same commanding presence when he looked down at her with his dark eyes. 

"Delicious." His mouth shone with her juices, and he hesitated for a moment before he leaned in to kiss her. She caught the tangy sweetness of herself and moaned, ignoring the ache in her arms, both from holding herself up and trying to keep her hands behind her. He took her lower lip between his teeth and tugged, sending a shudder through her body. She could feel his hard cock against her inner thigh, straining the front of his trousers. 

Gold pulled back, but didn’t give her time to think as he sank two fingers into her. She cried out at the intrusion, hips shunting forward. He reveled in the way her slick cunt tensed around him, the flexing of her neck as she tipped her head up, begging him with lewd sounds and bright blue eyes. Her head fell forward, her face tucked against his neck. He added a third finger and pushed into her until he could go no further. He curled them and started a steady motion, in and out, until her hands balled into fists and crossed themselves at her back. Even now she was trying to do as he asked and keep her hands away, keep from grabbing at him like he knew she wanted. 

His thumb pressed to her clit, and she gasped, lifting her head as her eyes fixed to his. The pressure inside of her was unlike anything she’d ever felt, and the sharp zings of pleasure from the motion of his thumb was almost too much. She was overwhelmed and desperate, clawing at her forearms behind her back. If she moved her hands he might stop, and she wasn't sure what she would do if he did.

She was so wet. Every thrust of his fingers caused a sloppy, squelching sound between her legs and a breathy cry to fall from her lips. He took delight in all of it as he rubbed at her clit, over and over, around and around, until she was bucking her hips wildly.

“Alex,” she groaned in his ear. “Please. I need -”

Her words were cut off by another low moan as he slowed his movements. Her desperation strengthened his arousal, and the pain in his leg faded with it. He grinned at her frustration and leaned in to kiss her flushed cheek. 

She tried to lift herself off the table, pushing back on her hands and moaning as he stroked her deep and steady. Waves of fiery pleasure burned through her, each hotter and stronger than the last. After what felt like forever, he sped up, pulling his fingers out all the way before pushing them back in.. She was wonderfully stretched, but she wanted more, wanted his cock instead of his fingers and the press of his lean body against hers. 

He felt her contracting around him, her pussy grasping at his fingers, her body begging him for the release it so desperately craved. “Are you close, sweetheart?”

Lacey keened, her head dropped to rest against his shoulder. “ _Fuck_ \- yes. Yes, yes yes...”

His arousal was pressing painfully against his zipper. Her breaths were hot and rapid against his neck as he held his fingers inside her, flexing the tips to rub against the rough little spot he’d found as his thumb passed back and forth over the swelled nub of her clit. No doubt she’d be clinging to him if he let her, her arms tight around his neck, squeezing their bodies together. Part of him was disappointed that she’d held out this long without touching him properly, but then her cunt started to pulse around his fingers.

“Oh, Al - ah -” she tried to say his name but it caught on her throat as she trembled, lifting herself up as he kept up the pressure inside her. Lights flashed behind her eyelids as she screwed them shut and leaned back.

Gold didn’t stop moving until she did, wringing every drop of pleasure from her that he could. When he pulled his hand from her, she moaned at the empty feeling it left behind. Her eyes were hooded, looking up him as her breaths came fast and erratic. A few strands of hair stuck to her face and her complexion was a deep peachy pink. He rested his forehead against hers, gripping her waist tightly until she had stopped trembling, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He kissed her tenderly, stealing the little breath she had left. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered.

“Hmmm,” was all she offered him, with a wry smirk as she brought her hands in front of her again. 

Her wrists ached from holding them back, but when she reached for his trousers, she found only hot, velvety flesh. Somehow, while she was busy trying to form coherent thoughts after her orgasm, he’d released himself. She looked down and watched as his cock bobbed between them. 

“I don’t have any protection,” he confessed.

She licked her lips. “I do.”

After a quick fumble in her purse, she held up a red foil package, and he grinned as she tore it open. He let her roll the condom down his shaft, grunting as she gave him a hard squeeze at the base. Then he stroked the full length against her, sliding it through her tender folds, slickening it up before he pushed inside her. She was so hot and wet, a groan tumbled from him before he could control it and she smirked up at him. 

It was a lovely, unrestrained sound, the kind she imagined he rarely let himself make, and that made her feel powerful. He pulled her closer to the edge of the table, until he could slip just a little further in. A tiny squeaking gasp parted her lips as she felt his cock press as deep as possible. 

Gold’s mouth sought hers as he started to move, slow at first and then faster, as his resolve slipped. The thrusting of his hips never ceased even as he swallowed each of her panting breaths. His mind had become a flurry of everything all at once; the way she tasted, the way she sounded, the way she fluttered around his cock. He couldn’t remember feeling this consumed by the act of sex, certainly not with his ex-wife. Everything about Belle drew him in and made him want to drown in her depths.

Lacey leaned into him, grabbing at his shoulders and pulling herself against him. Her nipples rubbed against the fabric of his shirt and tie, sending little shocks of pleasure through her. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

She moaned, tensing around him as he pushed up into her. “You too,” she managed.

“Belle - close -” He broke off as another hard groan rumbled in his throat.

“Yeah,” she gasped. 

Words were beginning to fail her. Her brain was short circuiting as a fire bloomed in her core. She looked up at him, forced her eyes open to see the naked hunger on his face. The strength of it made her heart stutter, and when she opened her mouth all that came out was a desperate, pitiful whine. The increase in his pace told her that he delighted in hearing the weakness in her voice, but when his head dropped and his face buried in her neck, she knew he was just as wrecked. 

His hand fumbled between them, sticky fingers finding her clit again and pulling a sharp cry from her. He bit and sucked on her skin as his balls tensed.

“I’m - I’m -” Lacey tried to say as her breath caught and her body contracted. Sensation ripped through her and she clung to him desperately, quaking and squeezing around his length. 

Her quivering brought him over the edge, yanking him headlong into his own climax. He groaned into her skin, his cock pulsing and spilling into her. 

“Well, ” she said when she was sure her voice would work again. “That definitely warmed me up.” 

Gold laughed as he pulled away, zipping his trousers back up. His eyes, sparkled with something and met hers as she slipped off the table and began to fix her bra and blouse. It was an oddly relaxed and delightful sound, and she let out a shaky giggle, raking her hand through her unruly hair. 

He bent down and picked her panties up. For a long moment, he considered tucking them in his trouser pocket and keeping them as a souvenir, but then he held them out to her. 

“Thank you,” she said playfully, biting her lower lip as she took them from his hand. 

Then she slipped her skirt back on and wiggled back into her heels. Her legs wobbled, and Gold reached out to steady her with a grin that he knew was entirely too self-satisfied. He felt weak himself, something which he never allowed in his life, but when she looked at him like she was now, her eyes bright and mirthful, her clothes rumpled from his hands and their exertions, he couldn’t help it. It was a look of pure desire and want, with a tender edge that made him want to kiss her hand and take her to dinner.

It was glorious and ludicrous all at once.

* * *

Gold sucked in a breath through his nose and let it out slowly.

The memory of their first night together was still too vivid and real, and he shifted in his chair, scowling at his traitorous cock. He poured another glass of whiskey and swallowed it down, fighting back a cough from the sting at the back of his throat. Tears welled up in his eyes and he squeezed the glass, his thumb squeaking over the outside.

Belle - _Lacey_ \- he tersely reminded himself again, was gone. This morous reminiscing would get him nowhere.

His nostrils flared as he ground his teeth, clenching his jaw until it twinged painfully in his temples. He blinked and his vision blurred. Heat rose up the back of his neck and he stood abruptly, his arm coming back as his fingers tightened around the glass. His body tensed as he stared at the curtained doorway, the spot where she’d stood that night as she wished him a good evening. He wanted to wonder where she was, what she was doing, if she was spending even half as much time thinking of him as he was her. If he did that, he’d be at the bottom of the bottle in no time and regretting it in the morning.

After a long moment, he lowered his hand and dropped the glass onto the table. Then he took up his cane and stalked out of the shop, stepping out, uncaring, into the cold rain.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lacey runs out of options and makes a tough choice, and Gold gets a surprise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long for this update. This chapter is a little rough in the beginning because Lacey is going through some shit right now, but all will be well. Please heed the updated tags and the warning below.
> 
> Warning for references to abortion.

_Present Day…_

 

The afternoon was gray and hazy with a light, misty rain that didn’t fall so much as hang in the air and wait for you to walk into it.

Lacey ran a hand through her hair, frowning at the dampness that came away on her palm, and then wiped it on her jeans as she crossed the street. She took a deep breath, grateful to be out of the sterile smell of the clinic. The lingering scent of disinfectant and the harsh fluorescent lights had combined into a vague throbbing in her temples. They’d offered her pamphlets and given her forms to fill out, poked and measured, but none of it really made a difference.

The nurse’s words kept repeating in her head. _“You have choices, sweetie.”_

Except she didn’t. She couldn’t got forward or backward, not while this was happening to her. There was some jewelry left from that thing down in Baltimore, the incident she’d come to Boston to get away from, but after that there would be nothing. It was a stash for an even rainier day than the one that had driven her to Storybrooke, but for once in her fucked up life, Lacey was out of options.

A woman pushing a stroller passed by her, and she looked away. Her mind kept trying to block out what was happening, the swelling in her lower abdomen that made her jeans fit tight, and the tiny blob of tissue inside that was making her feel a kind of bone deep exhaustion she’d never known existed. A wave of nausea made her stumble up the curb, and she closed her eyes as she paused by the bus shelter, leaning on it for support as she breathed out slowly and fought to keep down the cereal she’d forced herself to eat before her appointment.

Someone asked her if she was okay, but she waved them off and started walking again. She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket, squeezing the small blister pack against the creases of her fingers. Her life was no place for a child, and there was little doubt that she’d been a terrible parent on top of it. Her mother had died when she was ten, and her father was more of an example of what not to do than anything else. She wouldn’t even be in this situation if it wasn’t for Moe French.

_“Remember to smile and look cute, Izzy.”_

The nausea returned, twisting like a knot in her belly, and she picked up the pace of her steps. Two small white pills and all this would be over.

 

 

* * *

 

The water was blissfully cold, and Lacey scooped more with her hands, letting it run over her wrists and palms before splashing it against her face.

She leaned down and slurped some of it into her mouth, swishing a few seconds before spitting it out. Her tongue felt thick and dry, and her throat stung from both the harsh stomach acid and the violent retching. She’d barely made it in the door of her temporary apartment before she lost every last Cheerio.

The faucet squeaked as she turned it off, and she straightened with a heavy sigh. Everything hurt and her body felt heavy with fatigue. How anyone could be expected to put up with forty weeks of this shit she’d never know, and it gave her even more respect for the ones who did. She eased herself down to the floor and leaned against the tile wall, letting the cold seep through her clothes and soothe the feverish tingle that always plagued her after she was sick. Her jeans pressed painfully against her stomach and she popped the button with an exhale of relief. In just a short time her lower belly had swollen; not so much that anyone could tell what was happening to her, but enough for her favorite skinny jeans to be uncomfortable.

Her head lolled to the side, her eyes catching the small pill pack on the floor. She’d dropped it when she’d come running into the bathroom. Now it was across the floor next to the shower, sitting next to some weird stain she’d been ignoring. That was her life; dingy apartments, dodging the law, and nothing to offer a child. She should have already taken the pills, and she stretched across the floor, ignoring the stinging her eyes.

As soon as she moved, a stabbing pain lanced across her body from above her right hip to the center of her abdomen, settling beneath her navel. Her eyes closed as she rolled back and pushed herself up against the wall, letting out a low groan. Breathing steadily, in and out, the pain eventually receded, and she looked down at herself, running a hand back and forth over her side. The pills lay just to her left, in easy reach. She could take them anytime in the next couple of days, anytime she was ready. Maybe this pain was a sign, maybe the problem would take care of itself without her having to do anything.

_Maybe…_

Lacey sniffed loudly and pushed to her feet, letting her loosened jeans fall down before she wriggled them over her hips and kicked them off. She snatched up the pills, setting them next to the sink before she moved into the bedroom. Her hand idly rubbed at her belly.

Even though she would be a hot mess as a mother, Gold would probably be a decent father. He’d had a son before, and even though their relationship wasn’t as close as he might have liked, they still kept in touch. The love in his voice whenever he spoke about Neal made her hate her own father even more. She doubted Moe ever talked about anything but money with so much reverence and devotion.

If only she was a better person, maybe they could have made a go of it, co-parented or something like that, swapping off every other week, meeting in the park to exchange the kid. But she wasn’t, and they weren’t.

Another twinge hit her as she sat down on the bed, and she twisted to lay on her side, her knees bent and curled up towards her chest. Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes, her throat so tight she could barely breathe. The pain passed, leaving a lingering ache that she felt all the way up to her chest. It would be easy right now, while it wasn’t as real to her as it might be in a few weeks. The pills were so small, so easily swallowed, but she could wait. 

Two more days, just to see what would happen. Then she’d take them.

 

 

* * *

 

_7 months and two days ago…_

 

“Miss Belle!”

Lacey turned at the sound of her fake name, and smiled. “Grace! How are you, sweetie? Did you find a book you like?” 

Grace made a face and shook her head, turning it all the way one way and then the other in an exaggerated no.

“Why not?” Lacey went down on one knee, bringing herself to Grace’s level. “Have you read everything already?”

That earned her a smile and a soft giggle. The girl could be sensitive and stubborn when things weren’t going her way, but she was a very bright child, and Lacey suspected that much of her angst came from frustration at the adults and other children around her. Her father, Jefferson, was a very eccentric man, and a good friend of Gold’s. Lacey had only met him once, but he seemed charming and sweet, and very devoted to his daughter.

“All the books about superpowers have _boys_ in them,” she groused, her head flopping back as she huffed. “And I don’t want _another_ story about princesses.”

Lacey bit back a smile. “I see.” She tapped her lip with her finger, and then looked over at the circulation desk where a stack of newly returned books was sitting. “You know I might have something you’d like…”

Grace’s head tilted, and Lacey took her by the hand, leading her over to the desk. At the same time, the library door opened, and Mr. Gold stepped through the door. He paused with his cane planted in front of him and looked around the space before his eyes settled on her. Her breath caught the second she felt the weight of his gaze. Sunlight streamed in behind him, and she blinked as he started towards her.

They hadn’t spoken since two days prior when she’d dashed into his shop to escape a rainstorm and they’d fucked in the back. Her legs pressed together as she licked her lips, her body recalling how good he’d felt inside her, and how ready it was to do it again.

“Miss Belle?” 

Grace tugged on the hem of Lacey’s cardigan, and she looked away from Gold, giving herself a shake as she focused back on the little girl.

“Yes, sorry,” she said, flipping through the first few books on the stack. “Here it is!”

Grace accepted the book from her and stared at the cover. “Ma - Mat - Mat-ill - dah?”

“Matilda,” Lacey said, smiling as Grace repeated the name flawlessly. “It’s about a very smart little girl, who has a super power.”

Grace looked up at her wide-eyed. “Can she fly?”

She shook her head, tossing a quick glance in Gold’s direction. He was leaning on the counter a few feet away, smiling softly as she spoke with Grace. It was unnerving.

“No, she can’t fly,” Lacey said, dropping down to Grace’s level again. “She can move things with her mind!” 

 

Grace let out a soft gasp and gave the book’s cover another once over, her eyes moving from top to bottom over the drawing of a little girl sitting surrounded by stacks of books. “That’s cool!”

Lacey grinned. “Right? She’s so smart she can move things just by thinking about it, and she uses her power to help her teacher, Miss Honey.”

“Her teacher?”

“Mmhmm,” Lacey hummed. “Miss Honey is the only adult who sees how smart Matilda is, and she’s very sweet.” She slipped the book from Grace’s hands and flipped it around, letting her fingers trace over the cover. “This was my favorite book...”

The idea of having a super power, of being able to escape your circumstances and leave behind people who didn’t want you or love you had entranced her as a child. If only it had been that easy. A noise drew her attention, and she watched Gold crossed to the small rack of magazines by the front sitting area. He started turning it around and around, without taking any of the magazines out, and she returned her attention to the process of checking out the book.

“There you go,” she said a few minutes later, handing Grace the book. “I hope you enjoy it.”

Grace beamed at her and opened the cover to look at the stamped return date on the inside. “Thanks, Miss Belle!”

Lacey blew out a breath and watched the girl go, her fingertips running back and forth over her bottom lip.

“Do you have a minute, Miss French?”

Gold’s voice surprised her, and she jumped, nearly knocking over the stacked books. She reached out to catch them at the same time he did, and their hands slipped over each other.

“Oh - I - um, I’m sorry…”

“My fault, entirely.” He flashed a tight smile and pulled his hand back, folding it over his cane.

She met his gaze and held it, feeling her cheeks flush. “Did you need something?”

“You’re very good with her,” he said, and then nodded towards the doors. “With all the children, I imagine.”

Lacey shrugged. She wasn’t, but Belle was. “I don’t know, I just try to treat them like people.”

“Well, they do tend to grow up and become people,” he agreed. “At least in my limited experience.” She gave him a look, and he shrugged. “I have a son.”

Her eyes widened and her head tilted slightly. “What grade is he in?”

“He’s twenty-five.” Gold chuckled. “He, uh, he doesn’t live around here. He’s down in New York.”

“I see, well…” She pressed her palms to her skirt and tried to ignore the heat creeping up the back of her neck.

His grin was crooked, and he looked down for a moment, as if remembering something. “I was looking for a book...”

“Obviously.” She was grateful for the change in subject and smirked at his raised eyebrow. “Any particular one, or will this one do?”

She held up the book on top of the stack, and he wrinkled his nose at the cover. “I love trashy vampire romances as much as the next desperate housewife, but no.”

Lacey’s lips twitched as she set the book down. “Then how can I help, Mr. Gold?”

He gave her an odd look and said, “Well, I need to translate some Spanish. A fellow collector in Boston thinks he has some original writings by Neruda and we’re trying to authenticate them.”

“Ooooh!” Her eyes lit up and she came out from behind the desk to lead him back to the language section. “I’m sure there’s something here that will help, assuming the writings are legitimate.” 

Her fingers ran along the shelf, eyes searching for something that might fit. She hadn’t been at this very long, but walking among the books every day had given her a sense of the job, and a familiarity with the building’s contents. After selecting something that would do the job, they went back to the desk and she started the checkout process.

She could feel his eyes roaming up and down her body as she moved, and she nearly dropped the stamper. He hadn’t said anything about their encounter, and she was starting to wonder if he was going to ignore it entirely. He leaned in as she held out the book to him, but he took hold of her wrist instead, using it to pull her closer. Across the narrow counter, she could feel his warm breath on her face, and a flush of something washed over her as she turned her face towards his.

“I crave your mouth,” he said softly, his voice dropping low, his eyes drifting down to her lips. “Your voice, your hair.” 

Lacey shivered. Her lips parted and her eyes fluttered closed as a flush of arousal washed over her, settling low in her core. She sucked in a shallow breath and caught a hint of Gold’s scent, aftershave or cologne maybe, warm and earthy like sandalwood.

“Silent and starving,” he continued, “I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.”

His mouth brushed her cheek, her jaw, and then his nose touched to hers, their eyes meeting before he pulled away. She swallowed hard and looked down to realize her hand was still outstretched, the book now tucked under his arm. The bastard was smirking at her, and she wanted to walk around the desk and kiss it right off him.

“Have dinner with me.”

She blinked hard. “What?”

He chuckled again, a low, dark sound that did nothing to stem the throb between her legs. “Dinner, Miss French?”

Lacey breathed slowly and folded her arms. “Where? When?”

“My place. Tonight.” Gold shrugged one shoulder. “Say...seven?”

She swallowed again and licked her lips. There was another invitation there, unspoken but clear, and she grinned slowly. “See you at seven. Mr. Gold.”

 

 

* * *

 

_Two Days Later..._

 

Gold turned the glass, watching as a drip of condensation ran down the side to puddle on the side table. 

He pressed on the wet spot with his finger and wiped it away. Outside the rain patted at the window, a gentle, soothing white noise that annoyed him. He didn’t want to be soothed, he wanted to take his cane and smash everything in his reach to pieces. The only reason he didn’t, the reason he was sitting and drinking the most expensive scotch he owned, was because seeing the remains of his possessions in the morning would make him feel worse. He tried not to think about the shards of glass on the floor in the back of his shop, the remains of a crystal figurine that had been sitting on the cash register since Belle had put it there some months ago in an effort to tease him.

_Belle._

_Lacey._

_Whatever._

The scotch slid down his throat smoothly, warming in his belly, and he leaned back in the chair. At some point he would get over her, just as he had his ex-wife. He was coming around to accepting that she had been doing nothing more in Storybrooke than biding her time, and that their tryst had been an easy distraction.. She wanted to be comfortable and protected, and he couldn’t blame her for that in the end. It was his fault for making everything into more than it was, for believing her soft touches and quiet words meant something. Inviting her for dinner, giving her space in his home and his heart, that was all on him. She’d never asked for any of it, never seemed to want it in hindsight, but he’d been too stupid and foolish in the moment.

Gold blinked as the fire in the fireplace lept upwards, glowing brighter and higher with a sharp snap and a whooshing sound. He frowned and looked down at the floor to see pieces of glass shining in the light, some so close to the fire they were melting, and a splatter of liquid trailing from the floor up onto the stone hearth. He slumped in the chair and stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him by caving to his emotions and flinging his glass into the fire. After a few minutes, he pushed to his feet and head towards the kitchen for a rag and something to put the glass in.

A knock at the door drew his attention, and he scowled down the hallway, his eyes narrowing at the colorful stained glass in the door. He could see a shadow of someone outside, and huffed as he made his way to it, assuming it was Sister Astrid or Miss Blanchard, out collecting for some cause or another.

Gold yanked open the door, ready to lash out at the poor unfortunate soul who disturbed his brooding, only to nearly fall over in astonishment. “Lacey…” 

She shrugged, swaying the backpack that was slung over her shoulder. “Hey.”

His lips curled over his teeth as his hand pressed down on his cane. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“The traditional lover's greeting,” she mumbled looking down at the worn wood planks of the porch.

“There’s nothing here for you.” He stepped into the doorway, thumping his cane hard against the threshold. “Go back to Boston, or New York, or wherever the hell you ran off to.”

He started to shut the door, and she reached out, catching it with her hand and bracing hard. “Hey!” She gave it a hard shove, and he pulled it open again, glaring down at her. “Fuck you! I came all this way because I have something to tell you.”

“I. Don't. Care.” His jaw clenched, grinding his teeth together as he sneered through every word. “About _you_ , or whatever you have to say. I'm not -”

“I'm pregnant.”

Gold blinked hard and frowned. Lacey stared up at him, her face calm, and he reached out to hold on to the door frame. His head felt strangely heavy and he let his eyes close for a moment. “You're - uh - you're - you’re what?”

“Pregnant.” Her mouth curled a bit. “And don't insult me by asking if it's yours. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't.”

“I - I wasn't.” Surprisingly, it was the truth. He didn’t believe she’d show up and tell him something like that without the certainty that it was his. “Lacey, what - why - why are you here? Why are you telling me this?”

Lacey shook her head and twisted the strap of her pack in her fingers. “Because it's yours and - and I thought you should know.”

He swallowed and leaned against the side of the doorway. His leg was throbbing along with his head, and his stomach felt like he’d been punched. A tiny ember of hope bloomed in his chest and he wanted to stamp it out and throw it in the fire along with every shred of emotion he had left for her. She shrugged again and looked down at her shoes, and his earlier anger returned full force.

“Why? So nine months from now you can sue me for child support?” She looked at him, her mouth twisting, wrinkling the skin on either side of her nose and across her forehead. “So you can weasel even more money and time out of me? What you got wasn't enough?”

Lacey’s eyes went wide and she wobbled backwards before catch herself. “What the hell are you -?”

He scoffed and shook his head, tossing his hair back from his face. “You're so dedicated to the con, you're playing the longest game possible with another human being’s life?”

“Fuck you!” she spat, slapping the door with her palm instead of his face.

Gold let out a humorless snort and looked her up and down, smirking. “No thanks. This time I'll pass.”

Lacey stepped back and shook her head, pressing her lips together. “You know what,” she said, her voice even as she shoved her hands in the pockets of her worn red leather jacket. “This was obviously a mistake.” 

His eyebrows lifted as she took another step backwards, as if confirming her stupidity.

“I'm sorry,” she continued. “I just thought _maybe_ this baby was wanted by at least one of us. That if there was anything left of this giant shitcake to salvage... _this would be it. But I was wrong.”_

__

__

She turned and walked down the porch steps, her boots making heavy thumps on the wood. Gold’s mind was still reeling, both from shock and anger, and some part of him was screaming to stop her, but his legs wouldn’t move and his throat felt too tight to form sound.

“Sorry, kiddo.” Lacey looked down at her belly. “You're O for two!” Then she looked back at Gold, digging her nails into her palms and swallowing hard. “You don’t have to worry. I'll be on the bus tomorrow. Have a nice _fucking_ life, Gold.”

She continued down the sidewalk from the pink house, blinking as the tears stung her eyes. This had been another stupid mistake, a complete disaster just like most of her life. He was watching her leave, again, his eyes on her, burning a hole in her back straight through to her heart.


End file.
